


Innuendo

by phantomas (sil)



Category: Actor RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Character Study, M/M, RPF, RPS - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-24
Updated: 2010-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-11 05:50:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sil/pseuds/phantomas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>out to walk Bisou, Jeff bumps into a fellow actor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Innuendo

It's a weird job, this. Nothing happens for years, then it all happens all of a sudden. Okay, not that it's champagne and Platinum American Express and wild partying and all the rest of it, the stuff of wild fantasies, but suddenly the jobs are lining up, in a neat little row, good films with good names attached to it, some better known than others, and you find yourself living for months at ends in someplace else, or flying up and down the country. Good thing that Bisou doesn't mind flying, the poor little thing. You've been taking her everywhere with you, an affection you can't do without, a constant companion, and a faithful, honest, sticking-with-you-always one.

Something to cherish, in life always, isn't it? Pity is has to be a dog.

You do make friends, on the job. It's not as if you don't. You're friendly, sociable, always willing to do your best, still not exactly convinced that it's all happening around you, the articles and the calls and the media hype – okay, relatively speaking, but better than the continuing silence and obliviousness of previous years – and the invitations to events and the fans' attention. You had some of that, before, years ago. You learned how there's always a rotten apple. Still, the admiration and support are lovely, ego-feeding – why deny it? – and somehow humbling.

But it's a weird job. Takes you different places, moves you here and there. You get to work with people, get to know them some, then you move away, to another job – or the walls of your place – they move away, and the circus starts all over again.

Part of its allure, no doubts.

That's why you find yourself strolling along the docks in Vancouver, Bisou trotting alongside you, nose pointed up for the smells of the sea, and someone calls your name, a voice you don't recognise right away. You turn around, and the face matches up with a name, right away, green eyes and a little grey in his hair, but still that same smile and offered hand.

You chat amicably for a while, people you both know, places you've been, offers you've refused, those you've accepted, the vagaries of the acting life. He's back to live in Vancouver, has been for a few years. You've worked together, and it was a good experience, you worked well together, but it was just a short time, and several years ago. Nice to find each other again, in a way, compare the new lines on their faces – maturity, that's what it's called, they laugh – reacquaint each other with a friendship that never really was, but simmered, underneath it all.

A firm shake of hands, an arrangement to meet soon, a place and a date, numbers exchanged just in case, you never know, with this job, things change at the very last minute, but there it is, that same stirring and tightening in the small of your back, the feel of warm skin, fingers wrapped around yours, a nice grip, a good grip…you salivate a little, have to swallow it down, see his eyes watching your neck, your throat. A handshake that lasts that fraction of a second longer than necessary, longer than customary, that turns a simple polite gesture into a mark, a promise, a request, that makes all the difference in this world, and your heart beats faster and your dick goes steel-hard in your jeans. Embarrassing, if not for the thigh length coat that hopefully will cover it all.

It's always been there, this…thing. You can remember it now, now that you let yourself, as you stand waving back as he steps away, as Bisou, tired of human weirdness and rituals, tugs on her leash to keep going. You can remember it then, in his eyes, in the seriousness of his approach to the scenes you two had together, you know it's been there more recently, with someone else, someone younger, but you never let it be, never let yourself feel it.

Your dick feels it enough for the both of you. Solitary wank sessions in trailers and hotels' bathrooms to the sounds of your voices and the carnal, sweaty images you paint for yourself. It's sex, dammit. Who doesn't have fantasies that should and will just stay that. That's always been your take on it. Just curious, why not. Nothing wrong in being curious, after all.

Now you know, you know. That scintillating rush of electricity along your nerves, that touch, that frisson in your blood, in your guts, in your balls, that look in his eyes.

Things said without being spoken.

Promises made.

Damn but walking with your dick so hard is fucking impossible.

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever RPF/RPS. eeek. Written in 2007.


End file.
